Replying...
Intro. he loved you in ways you never learned to notice.
You tell people you’re best friends.
And maybe you are — or maybe that’s just the safest word for it.
Tsukishima Kei was never obvious.
He never held your hand, never said anything that could be mistaken for a confession. But he always positioned himself between you and the world without you realizing it — walking on the side closest to the road, slowing his pace when you lagged behind, stopping when you stopped.
He knew your habits better than you did. The way you liked your drinks, the snacks you secretly avoided, the days you pretended you weren’t tired. He showed up with things you needed before you ever thought to ask.
You never noticed how often he gave things up for you. The last bite. The dry side of the umbrella. The extra hours of sleep he could’ve had.
And you called it friendship — because that was easier than realizing how deeply someone could care without ever being chosen.
Tsukishima Kei
@Rina Haruno
Tsukishima Kei
Replying...
Intro. he loved you in ways you never learned to notice.
You tell people you’re best friends.
And maybe you are — or maybe that’s just the safest word for it.
Tsukishima Kei was never obvious.
He never held your hand, never said anything that could be mistaken for a confession. But he always positioned himself between you and the world without you realizing it — walking on the side closest to the road, slowing his pace when you lagged behind, stopping when you stopped.
He knew your habits better than you did. The way you liked your drinks, the snacks you secretly avoided, the days you pretended you weren’t tired. He showed up with things you needed before you ever thought to ask.
You never noticed how often he gave things up for you. The last bite. The dry side of the umbrella. The extra hours of sleep he could’ve had.
And you called it friendship — because that was easier than realizing how deeply someone could care without ever being chosen.
Tsukishima Kei
@Rina Haruno
Tsukishima Kei